“Well?” the Doctor observed mechanically.
“Cannot you understand?” she cried, turning upon him fiercely. “This man Lionello, has suggested that my lover’s life should be taken; that he should be silenced merely because he fears that my love may lead me to desert you, or turn traitor. I know well how easily such suggestions can be carried out; but remember, if a hand is lifted against him it is to me, the woman who loves him, that you shall answer; to me you shall beg for mercy, and, by the Virgin, I will give you none!” And her panting breast heaved and fell violently as she clutched the back of her chair for support.
For a few minutes there was again silence, deep and complete. Then Nenci laughed the same harsh supercilious laugh as before.
“Bah?” he cried, with curling lip. “Your foolish infatuation is of no account to us. Your lover holds knowledge which can ruin us. He must therefore be silenced!” Then glancing swiftly around the table with his black eyes, he asked, “Is that agreed?”
With one accord there was a bold, clear response. All gave an answer in the affirmative.
Chapter Twenty One.
At Lyddington.
Outside it was a dry, crisp, frosty night, but in Doctor Malvano’s drawing-room at Lyddington a great wood fire threw forth a welcome glow, the skins spread upon the floor were soft and warm, and the fine, old-fashioned room, furnished with that taste and elegance which a doctor of independent means could afford, was extremely comfortable and cosy. “Ben,” the Doctor’s faithful old black dog, lay stretched out lazily before the fire, a pet cat had curled itself in the easiest of easy chairs, and with her white fingers rambling over the keys of the grand piano sat a slim, graceful woman. It was Gemma.